


Shaken, not stirred.

by SomeSleepySloth



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Bartender Alec Lightwood, Did I just discover that I can put any tag that I want?, Equal Opportunity Death by No Beta 2020, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Humour, M/M, Movie AU, What's Your Number Reference, no beta we die like men, or women, possibly yes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:34:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26856760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SomeSleepySloth/pseuds/SomeSleepySloth
Summary: Take the plot of What's Your Number, add a pinch of Bartender AU, and this fic is the result of it.
Relationships: Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood, Mention of Lorenzo Rey/Andrew Underhill
Comments: 11
Kudos: 71





	Shaken, not stirred.

**Author's Note:**

> How many conversations start with, "hey, have you heard of this movie/TV show/book?" and end with "Make it Malec?"
> 
> Far too many perhaps, and this fic is the result of such a conversation.
> 
> I do not have any opinion on Cosmopolitan, but the article titles in this fic are real titles I found on their website.  
> Except the one about the 20 lovers. I pulled that out of thin air. *waves artistic licence*

After the long week at work, where Magnus had genuinely wanted to throttle five clients and contemplated resigning thrice, the weekend could not have come sooner in his opinion. He has his cup of coffee, spiked with a generous serving of Bailey’s, and this month’s issue of Cosmopolitan, two important ingredients to create the perfect Saturday for Magnus Bane. 

Taking his first pull of coffee, his eyes flutter close, allowing himself to savour the rich creaminess of it. _Mmhm, the taste of happiness_. He kicks his feet up on the coffee table, sinks back into his couch, and flips open the magazine.

It has been somewhat of a weekend tradition that started in his college days to read the Cosmopolitan on weekends, when his college’s dining hall had started offering reading materials for students to browse while they were having meals. Magnus had been lured in by the cover page, promising _27 Ways To Get Over A Breakup_ , something he sorely needed. As soon as he sat down with his dinner tray, he had flipped it open eagerly, only to be disappointed at the quality of the tips. ‘ _Buy yourself a big bouquet of roses’_ , Magnus had snorted out loud at that.

“Look at this bullshit, Ragnor,” Magnus remarked to his roommate as he gestured at the article, “how on earth could roses help you get over a breakup?” 

His roommate leaned forward to look at the article upside down. “Say yes to everything,” he reads aloud, before bursting into laughter, “there is a movie that suggests that might be a bad idea.”

“God, what a load of rubbish. I wonder what the other articles say,” Magnus commented.

A mischievous glint appeared in Ragnor’s eyes. “Go on then, let’s take a look,” he encouraged, making an impatient gesture. Magnus was more than happy to comply, turning to the next article.

And Magnus has kept that tradition, silly as it is, because reading through trashy articles is quite a way to unwind after the stressful week at work. This month’s selection of articles does not disappoint indeed, Magnus is cracking up at _The Turkey Drop_ , when he pauses at the next article - _More Than 20 Lovers? You might be doomed!_

He knows these articles are usually inaccurate or vapid, but he can’t resist the urge to read that article, not after having seen that attention-grabbing headline. A decision which he regrets barely five minutes later. Because the writer opines that if he has had twenty lovers, he will have difficulty finding a spouse in the future. The choice of the number twenty is far too precise to be an arbitrary decision, and Magnus can feel a trickle of anxiety down his spine.

Because while he might not want or be able to settle at this precise moment due to his job taking up far too much of his time, he _does_ dream of settling down in the future, and achieving the white picket fence dream, cliché as it is. Magnus yearns for a loving spouse, an adorable Golden Retriever dog, and the 2.5 kids - the whole deal. Getting that will take effort on his part, because he has been stuck in a rut ever since he fled to New York for college. He had chosen the city because he wanted to get as far away from his hometown as possible; he figured that the East Coast was as far from the West Coast as one could be.

College was a decade ago, and he has remained in New York City ever since. There are days when he misses his hometown, the house he grew up in, the soccer pitch he spent hours training on, but deep down, he recognises that these are just physical places. The people that made his life happy have long left California, his father had abandoned the family, his mother had passed away, and Magnus did not have many friends aside from his soccer teammates. Those that he keeps in contact with have gone to out-of-state colleges, so there is no reason to return, since he no longer has an emotional attachment to his hometown.

And especially not since he knows that Camille is still there. He has long made peace with the awful treatment he had suffered at Camille’s hands, but it doesn’t stop the spike of anger that surges through him when he thinks of her. Camille, his first girlfriend whom Magnus had dated all through high school and made plans to go to the same college, only for her to break up with him. And breaking up is putting it lightly, because the bitch had dumped him publicly at Prom and humiliated him in front of everyone by declaring that he had been such an awful boyfriend, she felt the need to cheat on him with a better guy. And just, nope, Magnus is fucking done with LA.

He has his close friends from college, a tight knit bunch that he is thankful for, and a job that puts money in the bank, he certainly can’t complain about his life. Like his supervisor loves to say during her quarterly review of his work performance - there is room for improvement.

And Magnus is working on it, he has tried to move on from Camille, he has gone on dates, he has been set up on blind dates, he has even downloaded Tinder, which he now refuses to touch with a ten-foot pole. But nothing had stuck. So Magnus simply brushed it off and told himself, his time will come, eventually, because what else could he do. He was fine with taking his time to meet his future partner.

Well, he _was_ , until he read _this_ article. 

Because shit, he needs to compile a list of how many lovers he has had; Magnus Bane wants to get married one day, ergo, he has to find out how doomed he is, like five minutes ago. 

Thankfully, Madzie had left her notepad on the coffee table from her last visit, so he doesn’t have to hunt for paper. He rips off the top sheet, grabs a pen, and settles back down to write his list.

The first name is easy - Camille. And Magnus certainly does not viciously carve her name into the paper as if each harsh stroke was a stab to her rather black heart.

The second, third, fourth, fifth, well basically, number two to number ten take a fair bit of ransacking through his brain, and his phone, to produce the names.

After his breakup with Camille, as a lonely freshman, Magnus would frequent the bar near his hall, and pick up people there in the hopes of getting over his ex-girlfriend.

The next morning, Magnus would prepare breakfast for the both of them. Some, he would never see again after breakfast, while others lasted for a few dates before it fizzled out shortly after. 

As his workload increased in sophomore year, his bar trawling days came to an unfortunate halt; it wasn’t as if his strategy of hoping romance would bloom from a one-night stand was working particularly well either. Magnus did still frequent the bar with his friends, but now his dates were individuals introduced to him by his friends.

Number fifteen is Imasu, a music student who shared a gen ed module with Magnus; he had lasted the longest. They had met in the first semester of his junior year, and dated for the rest of his time in college. Before their graduation, Magnus had been hopeful that he had finally found someone he could envision himself settling down with. It was still early days and they were young, he knew that, but there was still that hopeful spark within him.

Except that spark got snuffed out eventually; Magnus and Imasu parted ways mutually, as Imasu put it diplomatically. Magnus called it the “I am no longer putting up with your condescension” breakup, because all through their relationship, Imasu would encourage Magnus to dream big. It was initially thrilling to have someone encouraging Magnus to pursue his dream, supporting Magnus through it, but the thrill had worn off over time.

Magnus had dreams of working in non-profit organisations, a place where he could help others, somewhere that he could make a positive impact in society, where he could put his skills to good use. But reality often didn’t align with one’s dreams.

When Magnus was discussing his intention to apply for the graduate scheme in the Big Four, Imasu had criticised his decision, calling him a coward for not taking a risk, and abandoning his dream. That was easy for Imasu to say, because he had his trust fund to rely on, if whatever job he fancied didn’t work out for him. But Magnus? He did not have the same level of financial support that Imasu had, there were some risks he could not afford to take, literally. 

Magnus had initially brushed off Imasu’s criticisms, telling him that he would just be an accountant for a few years and build up a nice nest egg, before jumping ship. Every relationship had its ups and downs, _this_ was just part and parcel of it, or so Magnus convinced himself. Because he loved Imasu, and Imasu loved him, surely that counted for something? Except he had eventually grown weary of the barbs thrown his way and the snide remarks casually tossed into conversations. 

The day Magnus had received a job offer, with far better benefits than he expected, he had raced to Imasu’s loft to celebrate this exciting news. Only for his boyfriend to once again deride Magnus' decision to enter the corporate world. And Magnus was done, he was done defending his choices, he was done tolerating his boyfriend’s scorn. The day Magnus had received the job offer was the same day Magnus had put an end to his longest relationship, since Camille that is.

Number nineteen, George. Magnus sighs wistfully as he scribbles that name down and reminisces about their relationship. He had met George at the local Barnes and Noble, when the other man had helped to retrieve a book on a shelf out of Magnus’ reach. Magnus would have cursed the bookstore for putting the book he wanted on such a ridiculously high shelf, because Magnus was no slouch in the height department himself, _shut up Ragnor_ , but the coffee date he secured at the end of the conversation with George more than made up for it. Both had bonded over their mutual love of books and musicals, but fate had other plans it seemed, because after dating for scarcely three months, George had been posted to London by his office. Neither men wanted to deal with a long-distance relationship, not when their relationship was still in its infancy stage, and they parted amicably, albeit regretfully. 

When Magnus _finally_ puts his pen down and counts the number of names on it, his eyes bug out in horror, because he has nineteen names. Nineteen. One short of twenty. Just one shy of The Number of Doom, according to Cosmopolitan. 

The gears start clicking in his head as his mind starts going to overdrive, because _what does this mean?_ _Does this mean he can’t sleep or date any more people? And if yes, how is he meant to find his future spouse?_ Magnus is far too busy spiralling to realise he’d chugged his nearly full cup of coffee in a minute. When he lifts the cup up for another sip and sees that it is empty, he bypasses the coffee carafe, going straight for the bottle of Bailey’s; he definitely needed it.

In a panic, he rings up his ex-roommate. Ragnor has appointed himself as Magnus’ voice of reason, and dealing with crises such as this is part of his job description. His ex-roommate turned lawyer had even jokingly drafted a Friendship Contract for Magnus’ twenty-third birthday present, it was _definitely_ part of the contract terms.

“Ragnor. I am never going to get married,” Magnus wails into his phone. 

“Fuck’s sake Magnus, it’s eight on a bloody Saturday,” Ragnor grumbles, the petulance clear in his voice. 

Well-used to Ragnor’s grumpiness in the morning, Magnus ignores Ragnor’s whines and blathers on impatiently, “Ragnor, this is an emergency. I am never going to get married, I repeat. I might never -”

Before Magnus can finish his sentence, all he hears is the click of the phone call being disconnected. _That fucker_ , Magnus curses his luck at having such an unsupportive friend in dire times like these. A much more supportive friend would be by Magnus’ side now.

Although Magnus is forced to eat his words three hours later when His Royal Laziness finally deigns to come over shortly after lunch, because the minute Magnus had briefed his friend about his disaster, he had burst out laughing. Yeah, he will probably be better off without such a useless friend by his side, Magnus thinks to himself darkly as he shoots Ragnor a dirty look.

“Are you really going to believe what this article says?” Ragnor scoffs when he has finally calmed down from his outburst of laughter.

Magnus blithely ignores his friend’s sarcasm. “Yes, because it does seem to make sense. Look-” 

“It’s from Cosmopolitan,” Ragnor interrupts and enunciates each word in his three-word long sentence slowly as if Magnus is a five year old, which he is definitely not.

“I know,” Magnus huffs out, “I know we used to make fun of it. But the number twenty is far too specific to be plucked out from thin air. The writer makes some rather compelling arguments!”

Ragnor sensing that Magnus is unlikely to back down from this stupid hill he has decided to die an unworthy death on, massages his temples wearily. “Fine, fine. What do you want from me?” he says as he reaches for the half empty bottle of Baileys’ on the table. Alcohol is definitely needed for whatever Magnus gets into one of his moods, _that_ Ragnor had learnt and remembered well after the last decade.

“What do you mean, what do I want from you?” Magnus asks, his brown eyes widening just a fraction, giving him an innocent appearance.

Which Ragnor sees through in five seconds flat, because he has been there for all of Magnus’ antics. “You always want something,” he replies.

“Fine, I do want something,” Magnus concedes, “I need your help.”

“With what?”

A sheepish look appears on Magnus’ face as he mumbles, “I have no idea.” He fiddles with his cup handle to distract himself as an awkward silence settles over the both of them.

When Ragnor continues to give him an unimpressed stare, Magnus defends himself, “Hey. Look. I had a real panic over my list! So sue me if I hadn’t had the time to think of how to solve this mess!”

“Okay,” the lawyer mulls over it for a minute, “pass me that list. Let’s see what we have.”

Magnus slides it over reluctantly.

As Ragnor looks through the list, Magnus lightly thunks his head against the wall. “Why did I read the article Ragnor?” he moans, “if only I hadn’t seen it. Ignorance is truly bliss indeed.”

“There there.” Ragnor ruffles his hair teasingly as he continues his perusal of the list, making snarky remarks along the way. 

“Oh hey, Georgie boy. I liked him, it’s a real pity you broke up with him.”

“Yeah, but circumstances and all you know,” Magnus gestures vaguely, as if the hand waving could explain the complicated reasons behind their breakup.

“True. I saw him a couple of months ago at the supermarket actually. We chatted a bit, apparently he’s been posted back to New York, doing quite well now,” Ragnor pauses before continuing, “anyway, I’m not sure how I can help you further Magnus…”

The second his best friend had mentioned that George was back in town, Magnus had perked up; he had a sudden brainwave. _If what had torn George and him apart was the physical distance, and now the physical distance was no longer a hindrance…_

He sat up and grabbed Ragnor’s arm in excitement, “Ragnor, you clever bastard! That is a brilliant idea!”

When the lawyer continues to squint at him part confused and part suspicious, Magnus hastens to explain, “Look, if George and I broke up only because he was being posted to London, and now he is back in New York yeah, who’s to say that the circumstances of my other ex-es haven’t changed!”

The wrinkle on Ragnor’s forehead deepens as he furrows his brows; he asks cautiously “where are you going with this?”

“Ragnor, I can only sleep with one more person, before I hit the number twenty. That means number twenty needs to be perfect. Which I mean, short of an arranged marriage, the relationship might not culminate in an actual marriage.”

When Ragnor continues to stare at him in befuddlement, Magnus continutes, “so, I should revisit number one to nineteen! And see if any of them have changed into someone whom I want to marry!” He finishes his explanation with a triumphant fist pump, because wasn’t that just an absolutely brilliant idea?

“You can’t be serious,” Ragnor deadpans, in that trademark _Magnus Bane, you are an absolute idiot_ tone of his.

“Of course I’m not Sirius, I’m Magnus!” He retorts cheekily.

In lieu of a dismayed groan, Ragnor pins him with a flat stare and a question: “in what universe is that a remotely good idea?”

Magnus crosses his arm sulkily, “Look, I don’t see you coming up with any ideas!” Ragnor was meant to be supporting him, he had supported Ragnor through all his wild antics. 

He had been the one holding the boombox when Ragnor had messed up with Cat and needed to apologise to her. That idiot had somehow convinced himself that such a cliche gesture was what Cat needed; it wasn’t, both juniors had gotten doused with a bucket of water for their efforts. But the point was that Magnus had been there for Ragnor, through whatever harebrained scheme his mind concocted. It is only fair that Ragnor throws his support behind Magnus now.

When the guilt trip doesn’t work, Magnus pulls out his trump card - “Do you want me to tell Cat what happened in Peru?”

“You wouldn’t,” Ragnor narrows his eyes in a failed attempt to appear menacing. Sometimes Magnus wonders how his friend survives in court with that friendly and cheerful disposition of his because surely that would just result in him getting steamrollered. But the fact that he has been the top associate at Specter and Ross for two years running probably means he’s doing something right.

But his excellent lawyer-y skills will not work on Magnus, nope. 

“I absolutely would,” Magnus answers smugly.

And when Ragnor sighs, Magnus knows he has definitely won.

Over the next week, Magnus and Ragnor plot on how to run into each of Magnus’ ex-es. He digs up information on them, putting his sleuthing skills to good use by trawling through social media profiles.

Cat had declined to participate in what she called their ‘ _how smashed were you when you thought this would work?_ ’ idea. 

Magnus thinks it’s her loss because Ragnor and him are having a jolly good time taking a trip down memory lane together. Both men toast to the success of some of Magnus’ exes, Magnus is glad to see that Dorothea had finally secured her dream job with the World Bank, and that Patrick had bought the beachside house he had always desired. 

Disappointingly enough, George is now taken, judging by the numerous posts on his Instagram account of him and his boyfriend. Although Magnus wasn’t pinning too much hope on George working out; they had each other’s numbers and George knew that Magnus was still around in New York City. If he hadn’t rung upon his return, well, Magnus could certainly read between the lines. Magnus is a big boy, he will be alright; it’s just one out of nineteen anyway.

At the end of their investigation, Magnus has a grand total of _twelve_ candidates to ‘interview’. He craftily devises a plan to accidentally bump into them. For the most part, Magnus and Ragnor’s intel is fairly accurate, given the depth of their efforts.

There is that slip-up where he came across Lorenzo, only for his ex-boyfriend to introduce Magnus to his husband, Andrew and their baby girl, Elizabeth. _Right_ , Magnus should have taken into account the fact that some of his ex-lovers were not particularly fond of uploading their entire life onto social media. 

In any case, it ended up well for all involved because Lorenzo invited Magnus along for a picnic at the park and he had a very nice afternoon playing with Elizabeth at the park, heading home with a promise to pop by for tea next week.

As for those who are actually single after Magnus sneakily extracts the information from them during the orchestrated “oh I didn’t mean to crash into you, wait, you are so-and-so, how are you doing?” meeting, Magnus invites them out for a drink at his favourite bar. 

Some of them are still idiots; number two, Kennedy, is the same elitist shithead he was back in college when he would disparage Magnus’ fashion choices, his laptop, his phone, basically anything that Magnus owned, he would pass judgement on.

Magnus spends the entire date having his ear talked off about the audacity of the bar to serve such swill, barely able to get a word in at all. He puts his past self’s decision to date Kennedy down to his lingering trauma from dating Camille, he was probably desperate and lonely back then. And horny. Definitely horny. Because when Kennedy wasn’t busy spewing insults out of his mouth, he certainly put that mouth of his to better use.

Number twelve is Hideo, whom Magnus has an amazing time catching up with. It has been a while since they last saw each other, and in that time, Hideo’s new job as a National Geographic photographer had allowed him the opportunity to travel the world. But much fun as it is to hear about his international adventures, it is clear by the end of the night that there isn’t any spark between them.

And when the twelfth date goes the same way as the eleven dates that preceded it, Magnus is drained. He had no idea what to expect, he had maybe hoped for a second date with one of them at the very least. Except, none of his exes had made it past the initial date.

As is his routine at the end of every date, Magnus trudges up to the bar. He throws himself into the first available stool he sees and gestures for the bartender, “A Short Trip to Hell, please!”

The bartender’s eyes light up with recognition when he hears Magnus’ voice. “Hey there, back again?” he asks warmly. “And are you sure about the drink? You look like you’ve been to Hell and back already.”

“Yeah, back again,” Magnus replies glumly, resting his head on the counter, “I have indeed been to Hell and back, so I deserve my drink.”

“As you wish.”

Magnus stares entranced at the bartender’s swift movements as he goes about preparing the drink, those long elegant fingers picking up the glasses and bottles quickly, the deft flick of his wrist as he handles the cocktail shaker, and the way his t-shirt hugs his arms as he slowly drains the cocktail into a glass.

When the glass lands on the countertop with a soft _clink_ , Magnus jerks out of his trance in time to thank the bartender.

“So, what happened today?” the bartender prompts, when Magnus has been sipping at his drink quietly for far too long.

For the past eleven dates, he had sat at the bar counter, regaling the bartender with the woes of his latest date, and this week is no different, as he mournfully relates the tale of how his date with Hideo had gone, just like his dreams of ever getting married.

“Married?” the bartender repeats, raising a brow.

Magnus nods his head. “Yes, married,” he confirms, “I want to get married someday. And by the looks of things, I might never get married. My life is over. Fuck me.”

“Come on, be patient, it’s just been a run of bad dates, I’m sure you will meet the right person. They might be right around the corner,” the bartender cajoles, giving Magnus a commiserating pat on his shoulder.

“No, you don’t understand,” Magnus insists, stabbing a finger in the table to drive home his point, “I am stuck in a dead-end job, one that makes me debate the merits of capitalist versus a communist society daily, and my love life, as the Friends theme song goes, is _dead on arrival!_ Because I have run through my list, and of the nineteen -”

“I’m sorry, what list are you talking about?” the bartender interrupts, his head tilted to one side, which made him look like a curious little puppy.

“The Cosmopolitan list,” he supplies helpfully.

Magnus is way past the stage of embarrassment by this point; the bartender has witnessed him crash and burn spectacularly for the past twelve weeks, he can sink no lower, and it all comes pouring out. The story of how his downward spiral had begun with that fateful Cosmopolitan article, how he had compiled his list of lovers, and how he had painstakingly ‘interviewed’ each candidate, only to be left with no one at the end of it all. Well, he did get rather good food, and beer, but that wasn’t a substitute for a date.

At the end of his spiel, Magnus expects the bartender to laugh at him, because that is what Ragnor has been doing, or tut at him, because Cat thinks he is going about this all wrong. 

Instead, he is caught off-guard by the bartender’s question - “Can I see that list?”

_What?_

Now Magnus is the one staring in confusion, because he certainly didn’t see such a question coming. Well, whatever floats his boat, Magnus shrugs and hands the list over. It isn’t as if the list is of any use to Magnus now that he has vetted all nineteen candidates on it.

The bartender looks at it solemnly, looking far too serious for a list that Magnus had written on a whim, on a High School Musical notepad from when Madzie left it at his loft. He leaves the bartender to his scrutiny, and just sips at his cocktail, enjoying the burn of the alcohol. Maybe this alcohol could burn all that melancholy away; it is certainly worth a try.

“You are missing a name on this list,” the bartender pronounces after his examination. 

And Magnus chokes on his drink, because _what on Earth is he talking about?!_

“I’m sorry, what did you say?” he clarifies.

“I said, you are missing a name on this list,” the bartender replies calmly.

And Magnus is no idiot, he might be slightly tipsy, but he is still sober enough to recognise that he is being hit on. _Yeah, try pulling the other one,_ he thinks to himself.

“Are you really trying to pick me up now? Have you not heard what I just said? I’m not sleeping with anyone.” There is an edge of irritation to Magnus’ tone, as the possibility that the bartender has only been listening to Magnus for the past twelve weeks in the hopes of getting into Magnus’ pants dawns on him. 

Magnus can respect the guy’s dedication to playing the long con, but if the bartender had a brain as perfect as his face, he should have figured out that Magnus wasn’t looking to sleep with anyone, period, especially after that embarrassing tale.

The bartender merely quirks an amused brow at him, “I’m not lying, you missed me out on that list.”

“Are you saying I slept with you, and that I somehow forgot about it?!” Magnus is sure he has a gobsmacked expression on his face, which Ragnor has informed him on numerous occasions makes him look like a fish. 

But fuck that, because Magnus has just received some earth-shattering news. How is it that he has slept with this gorgeous specimen of a man, and not remembered it?!

When the bartender just offers a noncommittal shrug, Magnus presses, “Why do I not remember us sleeping together? Are you certain you are not having me on?”

The bartender rubs at his face wearily, as if exhausted by this Spanish Inquisition. “I’m not lying, you can ask your friend, the guy who comes in here with you, with the English accent, and the curly hair?” He gestures vaguely in the direction of his own hair, making wavy motions as if to illustrate Ragnor’s curls.

Magnus still isn’t convinced, he stares at the bartender shrewdly, before he declares, “I am going to call my friend. And I will be very displeased if I find out that you lied to me.”

“Be my guest,” is all the bartender says, as he heads down the counter to tend to another customer.

“Ragnor, have I slept with the bartender at my favourite bar?” Magnus blurts out once the call connects.

“Who?”

“The bartender at my Shadowhunters Bar!” Magnus replies in exasperation, because surely Ragnor knows of Shadowhunters Bar, having come here often enough.

“Oh, Alec,” Ragnor answers brightly, “I don’t think so? I asked you if you slept with Alec when we were compiling the list, because you guys went home together that night. But you insisted that no, you had no idea who this Alec guy is.”

“When was this Ragnor? Think think think!” there is a distinct tone of desperation in Magnus’ voice.

“Huh. I think this was about six years ago?” There is a pause, before he continues, “Yeah, six years ago, in May.”

And it all comes rushing back. Six years ago. May. Fuck. Yes. Magnus can see how he had forgotten about it. Because six years ago, on the 25th of May, was when Camille had appeared in his loft, a year after they broke up. He had thrown her out upon sight and gone straight to Shadowhunters Bar with Ragnor. The plan had been to get spectacularly drunk, and pick up the best looking person in the bar. Because that would fucking show Camille; she had said the best that Magnus could do was her, and that he should get back together with her while she was charitable enough to take him back. Yeah, Magnus was not crazy enough to touch her with a ten-foot pole. And so, bar crawling it was. 

Except the minute he’d stepped into the bar, his eyes landed on the new bartender. _Well, hello there_. Magnus had been busy with finals, and had not been by his favourite watering hole in a while. And it seemed like a lot had changed, and by a lot, he meant just the bartender. Only the top half of the body is visible above the countertop, but from the tousled black hair, to the bright grin on his face, and the way his T-shirt stretched tightly across his chest, Magnus was sold.

He had strolled up to the bar counter, delivering the cheesiest pick up line he could think of, while sending a smouldering look beneath his lashes. The bartender had burst out in laughter, Magnus would have been offended, except that the peals of laughter music to his ears. He had introduced himself as Alec, and they had spent the entire night chatting in whenever there was a lull in the customers’ orders, while Ragnor pouted in one corner at being ignored in favour of flirting with the bartender.

And… it gradually dawns on Magnus that he might have possibly brought the bartender back that night, and slept with him. 

And it seems, also possibly forgotten about him. For fucks’ sake. He curses his past self’s stupidity. How could he have forgotten about Alec?!

This man whom Magnus has discovered over the course of the past twelve weeks had an amazing personality behind his equally amazing exterior. He was in short, Magnus’ perfect man. But nope, that boat has sailed. Or rather, past-Mangus had cut the rope that was anchoring the boat allowing it to sail away in the distance.

He hangs up on Ragnor without a single word. And when the bartender comes back, Magnus looks up at him with misery on his face. “Why didn’t you tell me about it?” he asks, allowing the petulance to creep into his voice. 

“I had to leave early the next day to help my brother move house. I woke you up before I left to explain and to ask you out for a coffee. You said you’d ring me, but you never did. So I figured you weren’t interested.” At the end of the explanation, Alec looks down, deliberately avoiding Magnus’ gaze as he cleans a glass that he had already cleaned ten minutes ago.

“Alec?”

“Hmm?”

“I didn’t call you, because well, after you left, my ex came back to my loft, after I kicked her out the day before. She spent the entire morning berating me for not taking her back, and it was such an unpleasant exchange that I was completely exhausted after that. I did nothing but watch Netflix and eat ice cream the whole day,”

“Oh,” Alec manages, as his head tilts up to meet Magnus’ eyes “I’m sorry -”

“But,” Magnus interrupts smoothly, “even if I wanted to call you, I couldn’t. Because I do not have your number.”

Of that, Magnus is certain because he had spent the last ten minutes trawling through his contact list, searching for all permutations of Alec - _Al, Alexander, Alex, Lec, Xander._ He had searched through the whole list thoroughly but no, there was no such name. Which left only one conclusion - Alec didn’t give Magnus his number.

The glass that Alec is fiddling with clatters to the table as he gapes in shock.

“You don’t have my number,” Alec mumbles “Oh fuck, I’m an idiot. I’m sorry, I have no idea why I assumed you had it. I’m a fucking idiot.”

“You aren’t the only one. I’m sorry that I forgot to call you as well.” Magnus replies sincerely.

“It’s alright! Well, I’m glad that misunderstanding is all cleared up now! Anyway, it sucks that you have actually hit number twenty without realising it. But hey, don’t believe that article. Your future partner might be number twenty, you never know! You could get really lucky! it doesn’t matter what number they are, or what number you have.” And Magnus believes it, because there is no way a person could speak that earnestly while lying through their teeth.

Except when Alec shoots Magnus a crooked smile, one that feels slightly at odds with the hopeful expression in his eyes, and the sad tilt of his eyebrows, before turning his gaze back to his glasses, a small part of Magnus begins to wonder if he is reading this right. Could Alec still be interested in him, even after all _that?_

Magnus draws his finger through the pool of condensation on the countertop distractedly, attempting to do a quick cost-benefit analysis in his mind, before quickly abandoning the attempt because he was not sober enough for that.

He decides to take the plunge, throwing caution to the wind, because what is there to lose?

“Hey Alec,” he calls out before casually making his offer, “I have been meeting the people on my list, it seems I have been remiss in my efforts, because I missed out on this absolutely gorgeous, stunning, and all-round amazing bartender.”

When Alec’s hazel eyes flick up to look at Magnus, holding his gaze steady, a small smile unfurling across his face, yeah, Magnus is certain he has not read it wrongly at all. 

He smiles back at Alec, before continuing, “Will you aid me in completing my mission to have a date with all the single people on my list, by allowing me to take you out on a date?”

“Only if you promise to call me after I give you my number” Alec replies teasingly.

Alec does indeed give Magnus his number in quadruplate, he has written it down in marker on Magnus’ arm, he keys it in himself on Magnus’ phone, he scribbles it down on a post-it note, and he even texts Ragnor (‘ _Hi, this is Alec. Magnus has promised to call me at this number, so please do get him to do so as I have a date riding on this phone call! Thank you!’_ ) his number. 

Magnus leaves the bar with Alec’s phone number and a shy kiss on his cheek that has him eager to meet the bartender again.

~~

The next morning, armed with Alec’s phone number, Magnus does indeed call him up for their long overdue date, sending a text to ensure that Alec doesn’t forget about it. 

Alec doesn’t. 

And sadly, or maybe, fortunately, Magnus never gets to find out whether having more than twenty lovers makes it harder for him to find a spouse. 


End file.
